To Delineate and Destroy Us
by ChasingPavements19
Summary: AU fic: "I'm starting to feel a little. . . Sally Hemmings-Thomas Jefferson about this whole thing." Set in the 1800's depicting the love story of President Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III falling for his alluring and enigmatic house slave, Olivia. There will be tears, but also love. Keep an open mind! Read and Review.
1. Prologue

As he lies on his deathbed, a man with a sullen expression and trembling hands starts a letter by candlelight:

_Dear America,_

_In you I have found liberty, great bravery, loyalty and peace. My life as it is, as it was, on this Earth was not spent in vain because I was part of you, and you, an integral part of me. As a president, and a citizen of this great land, I have been blessed with the chance to lead you. I have been poised to call myself an American. I want each and every one of you to know that I, with my administration, have worked tirelessly to bring to the American people a better, richer way of life: one which you all deserve. Your hard work, your persistence, your conviction has driven us all to work harder, to persist. I have watched over you, and I have dedicated myself to this work. So that each man of this great nation can have access to their undeniable rights. In the foundation of this great nation it was written that we were all created equal, and that we all have the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness._

_America, your faith has never wavered. Because of this faith you deserve a leader who is absolute and I bear dishonor in the confession that I have wavered. My faith was lost once too. In times of trouble, years of darkness, I lost face. I questioned myself, this great nation, and in my God. I asked myself what kind of God could create us and abandon us on Earth? Leave us here to destroy ourselves, to watch each other burn, while He in his almighty power sits idle? I have seen great destruction in my lifetime, and pain. I found hope somewhere, in the far reaches of my mind, in the arms of the woman I love, in the arms of you, America. With your support, with your endless optimism, I found hope._

_But, in my old age I've found a growing loneliness and sorrow. I've watched loved ones leave, and I have lost. But know this, I have loved. In losing that love, I had lost myself. There is nothing more precious, nothing more worth holding steadfast to, than love. I love this country and so I have led it with due diligence. I love my family and so I have raised my children with the utmost dedication. I have loved so I have faltered. I have loved so I have lost. It is a fact of life. I am old, and I am tired of losing. As a man, I can only leave you with these final words:_

_It is only freedom, freedom to love that can liberate us. The freedom that such a thing as love brings, and the joy, has driven many men to greatness. And to the Oppressed: there, too, lies freedom within you._

_President Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III_

_July 4, 1826_


	2. Dust

**What's good, Gladiators? I said I would deliver and here it is, hot off the press. Golly, I hope you like it :-) I do NOT own Scandal, this is a story written out of love and affection for the show and its characters. Enjoy!**

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_**"A Bill of Rights is what the people are entitled to against every government, and what no just government should refuse, or rest on inference" **__**- Thomas Jefferson**_

_**February 13, 1800**_

He stoked the fire, trying to block out the chatter from the dining room. The clinking of silverware, the hearty laughs, the giggles.

"Fitz, oh Fitzgerald! Quit fiddling with that old thing and get your behind on in here. Sarah's laid out a wonderful spread for us all." Mellie hollered over the other voices.  
He pushed around the hunks of wood, watched flames rise, and the ashes settle. He leaned in close to inhale the scent. Then he rose, to join his guests in the other room.  
Mellie glanced at her husband absentmindedly as she whispered something off-hand to the older woman sitting next to her. Verna smiled, shaking her head. A graying gentleman took a healthy swig of the gin he'd just been poured. The negro servants stood watch, their eyes, politely averted.  
" Oh hell, Fitz, if you won't come out with it, I will," the graying gentleman started, knocking his knuckles to the hard wooden table. There was a new sense of excitement and suspense at the table with Cyrus' sudden outburst. Mellie, Verna, the Langston's, and Fitz all watched Cyrus now with wrapped attention. Even the slaves held their breath in anticipation.

" As you all very well know, I've known Fitzgerald Grant a long time. Too long, if you ask me, but if there's nothing else I can say about him, I can say, he's a damned good politician. Smart, ambitious, driven. And I won't beat around the bush much longer. Fitzy here, stand up Fitz, is running in the Presidential election this year."

Everyone's heads darted to Fitz, who was now standing with a pride-filled smile. Everyone threw their hands up with delight, the dining room erupting with chatter and reverie once more. Mellie stood to embrace her husband, though she whispered something in his ear, something no one else heard.

"Are you sure about this?" her voice was ever cold but also foreboding. She pulled back so his eyes would be forced to meet hers. He looked at her with confusion and exhaustion.

But once the guests began to raise their glasses, Fitz's and Mellie's rose also, leaving the question hanging in the air.

"Fitz," she croaked. Upon hearing his footsteps, she turned over in her bed. The door creaked as he slithered his way in.

It was late. The dinner guests had all made their way back to their homes, bellies full of satisfaction. The party was a success, and a good wife such as Mellie could take pride in that. But, she had been tossing and turning all night, awaiting his return. He hadn't expected that. She sat up in bed and watched the flickering candle he held in his hand float from the doorway, to the bedside table. She couldn't she his face, let alone read his expression.

"Mellie, enough." he sighed in exhaustion. The mattress sank as he lowered himself on it and proceeded to undress.

There it was, her first warning to leave it alone. But she would be damned if he would silence her tonight. She decided to press the matter further. "Please, listen to me. I can't do this, I don't want to do this. I'm so tired. It's been nearly thirty years. Thirty years of this business, this pain. I'm sick of politics, sick of Virginia. I'm unhappy, Fitz, and I don't know how to do this anymore. I don't know what you want from me."

"I want you to be my wife!" he hissed with all of his pent up frustration. He had not the energy for an argument, so he chose to simply shut her down. Whatever she had to say, whatever she felt the need to get off her chest, it wasn't worth it, not tonight. "For God's sake, Mellie. Don't you ever raise your voice to speak to me about sacrifice. You have no idea. What I have sacrificed, what I have given up. You are my wife. My wife! Ornamental, not functional. With limited responsibility and zero power. Raise my children and keep your mouth shut, that is all I ask."

With that, he shoved himself under the covers. Blowing out the candle, leaving the two of them in utter darkness.

* * *

" At the rate we are going now, Grant, I don't know how much longer we can last."

"Oh, for goodness sake, Bill, don't be such a sensationalist. The union isn't falling apart just because you say it is." Vice President Fitzgerald Grant interjected. They had been sitting in the same room, dueling it out for almost four hours, and true to form, the Vice President was growing bored. It was always the same with these huffy statesmen, all talk no action. Freedom fighters, leaders, revolutionists, bound to worn out wooden chairs, blowing smoke.

"It's falling apart now whether he says it or not, Fitz. It's not a matter of saying it aloud, it is. It truly is." Doug Langston insisted.

A man from Georgia spoke up, Amos "The Pistol" Crystal, they called him."The people have been granted independence, splendid. The arrow met the target-"

"-But not without spilling American blood." chimed Cyrus.

"Right! The people have been granted independence. We have presented them with their freedoms. The Anti-Federalists were granted a Bill of Rights in our Constitution: freedom of speech, worship press-"

"I'll thank you for the history lesson Senator, but insist it is not necessary. Hell, I was there for its conception, after all."

" So what do you propose we should seek to do next?"

"Exactly, what good is independence if we cannot sustain ourselves?" President William Terry asked. The men of the round table nodded enthusiastically, Fitz being the exception.

The Vice President's focus was quickly withdrawn, and Cyrus, President Terry and the other attendees of the meeting took it upon themselves to try to answer that question.

When she came, his mouth became too dry to speak. His head, too cluttered to form thought. His body, too anxious to be moved. He pondered how remarkable it was, her ability to disappear and reappear like an illusionist, making him feel enthralled by a sense of fascination and wonder. But his eyes, they did not miss a beat. He watched for her every movement. Olivia carrying a gleaming silver tray of tea and biscuits. She made her way to each man at the table, silently refilling their cups. Her delicate fingers held the pot, and she steadily tipped the mouth to the lip of each cup.

Waiting for her was such agony. He drummed his fingers to his knee, and shivered slightly in his chair. The Vice President watched her brush past Cyrus, Langston, Bill, Henry, each of their cups filled. Now it was his turn. His nose was already starting to fill with her familiar, sweet, feminine scent, and before he could gather himself, she was there. She was leaning in so close, so painstakingly close, that he could feel her soft breathing. The rhythm of a hummingbird beating its wings He wondered if he, too, should try to breathe. He dared not. In that one second, he was truly breathless. And then, in one swift move, she was away.

Could she not see him in his suffering? Every day she saw him, came within inches of him, leaving him without air to breathe. Sometimes, she would throw him a shy look, a "Yes, Master Grant" or an "Anything else for you, Master Grant?" just to torture him, to send his chest into a fervor. She would ask in a voice so sweet, so pure, he would become undone. Then she would leave, taking his train of thought with her-

"Fitz, what do you have to add?" Cyrus asked, reeling him back in.

* * *

The next morning, he was off slightly. He made rounds through the very elaborate household, his quick steps teetering up and down the halls appearing to stroll aimlessly, but not. He was hoping to run into her. On his way up the narrow staircase, she was making her way down. He took his chance.

"Miss Olivia,"

"Yes, Sir?" she asked expectedly

"I was wondering if I could have you do me a favor this morning?"

"Of course." How could she say 'no' to him?

He gestured for her to follow him back up the staircase to his study.

"It's a bit of a mess." he said sheepishly, holding the door open for her to step inside.

"Yes, sir. I can see that." she said taking it in. She grazed past him, their bodies making brief, innocent contact. Still, he felt her air mingling with his and liked it.

His study, like many other rooms in the household was grand. It was a huge, open space with mahogany floors, and creamy white walls. His large, wooden desk was close to the full-length windows lined with thin, white curtains. What used to be a sitting area was now two dusty sofas and in between them a small coffee table on an elaborate rug, buried under a pile of books and papers. One wall towards the back was an entire bookshelf littered with battered anthologies. Looking around she saw that nearly every surface was covered with books and a thick layer of dust.

She came round to his desk as instructed and bore witness to the incredible mess. Several candles burned down to nubs, more papers, more books, empty ink bottles. It had been said that messiness was a sign of the highest intellect. If that were true, she thought, Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III was a genius.

"Well, these papers here, all of them really, have a special I need from you is to organize them. The books too, need to go in order." he was making quick steps across the room, pointing this way and that. She tried keep up, but was distracted by the dusty globe on the wall by the bookshelf. Her hand hovered over the spear, flicking it lightly, she watched it spin on its axis.

"What kind of order, Sir?" she asked, distracted.

"Alphabetical, of course."

"Miss Olivia, I know you know how to read." She looked as if she had been cornered, a child preparing to be reprimanded. Not wanting to frighten her he continued.

" My copy of Cyrano de Bergerac's works always manages to find itself a new resting place day in and day out. I'm not one for romances anymore and neither is my wife, so I figured it had to be you."

"Master, I-"

"Please, no need to explain yourself, Miss Olivia. I'm actually rather impressed. That was one of my favorites when I was a younger man. Its a beautiful story. Very rich and full of heart, very French." He drew closer towards her.

"France, that's this one here, isn't it?" she pointed to the hexagonal landmass.

"Yes, it is."

"Maybe. . . you could take me there one day." Her eyes flickered to his.

"Of course." he said, stunned.

"Olivia, Jimmy been lookin' for you. Said you was needed in the kitchen ten minutes ago-oh, Master. I's sorry." Sarah blushed, feeling more flustered than embarrassed.

"It's alright, Sarah. I wouldn't want to keep you all from your work." he said coolly.

Olivia nodded and was prepared to whisk herself away again, feeling her slipping he took the chance to speak up.

"But Miss Olivia, tomorrow? Same time? I'll let Jimmy know I'm the one that's keeping you." he said hopefully.

"Yes, Master. Same time tomorrow." she nodded.

When the door padded shut, Fitz sighed wearily.

"What's he having you do tomorrow?" Sarah asked as they hastily strided down to the kitchen.

"He wants me to clean his study." she said, feigning disinterest. Olivia was not yet sure what line he was asking her to cross. But at the chance to be near him, to spend time in a space that was all his own- mess and all- Olivia jumped.

"You watch yourself, girl. I been a slave my whole life, and to these white folks, we their property. They wanna use us, then just as quick to get rid of us. You watch yourself." Sarah warned. Sarah was wise, trustworthy. She had a stern, round face to match her rounded body. She had a dark, chestnut brown complexion and tucked her hair into her neat cloth. She held a worry line, smack in the middle of her brow as she spoke, shaking her head. Sarah was wise, trustworthy, but she didn't know the Vice President, Olivia reasoned.

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**A/N: So where do you want this to go? What do you want to see happen? Of course I have ideas of my own, but I'm way open to suggestions. There will be more Olitz to come, pinky swear.**


	3. Timid Men

**Back with a brand new chapter! It's super hot off the presses, but hopefully it's not too rough. Let me know what you think.**

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**_"Timid men prefer the calm of despotism to the tempestuous sea of liberty" - Thomas Jefferson_**

**February 14, 1800**

"Olivia, rise and shine, honey." Sarah stood over Olivia. Outside the window of her shabby cabin, the minimal blue light of morning cast a shadow over the tall trees. Today she was shelving books in the Master's library, and that was important.

The two women took the dirt path up to the house. The walk took the wind out of Sarah every morning and night, but she did her best and never complained. The pair moved slower than most because of this. But Sarah had tough hands, calloused palms and fingers from years of picking cotton. When she was bought by Fitz's father and came to work at the estate, she was just a girl. Olivia didn't know how old she was, but the creases in her ebony skin were telling.

Sometimes, Olivia wondered how much her appearance gave away. She wondered how much of what she was was perceived. How much of her story could be revealed through the look in her eyes. So much of her past was pushed and shoved away to the far reaches of her mind, sometimes she would have trouble remembering herself.

"Sarah, what do you remember about growing up?"

"Almost nothing, hardly anything. I remember the persimmons. Out at old McCoy plantation, my brother and me used to pick them straight off the tree and eat them. We come back to the fields with our faces and hands all sticky, juice on our clothes, Mama would take one look at us and just laugh. "

"I didn't know you had a brother." Olivia said.

"Yeah, he's my big brother. But one day, the overseer- real mean son of a bitch, named Wilson- caught him picking persimmons, and, um," Sarah swallowed. "Well, we stopped picking after that."

That was the danger in asking questions about a slave's past: dig deep enough, and you would be sure to find a dark, nasty memory. They both sighed heavily to cover the silence.

The large, white house was coming up on the horizon with the sun coming to rise. It was still dark, still chilly. Some people were already out in the fields, beads of sweat gathering on their brows, their backs hunched, and their faces buried in the rows of cotton. They waved to the friendly faces and briskly paced past the unfriendly ones.

The kitchen was a different place. That was the thing about the Grant estate, the house was all hustle and bustle, more smiling, more banter. The fields were solemn and slow moving. The kitchen was the best place to be.

"So Liv's gonna be working upstairs today?" Harrison said with a sly smile.

"Harrison!" Sarah reprimanded. The whole kitchen erupted in chatter and laughter.

"Yes." Olivia said flatly, her eyes burning into the skillet.

"Don't let them get to you, Livy. When do you have to be up there?"

Olivia looked at the clock on the wall and panicked a bit,"Now!"

"Well, go. Go now! He won't take kindly you being late."

Olivia pulled back the creamy white curtains and unleashed a flood of light. She would do it this way: clear off the desk, and the tables, dirty dishes and rubbish would go to one side of the room. She would clear off the enormous backwall bookshelf and sets those books to the side. She would dust. Every surface, every crevice would have a shiny clean finish.

That was Olivia. She saw the potential in things: grimy old rooms could be new and beautiful. The helpless and the weak were hers to fix. She was a fixer, that was Olivia's way.

Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III needed fixing. She was a slave and he, her master, but never had she seen a man so desperate. The walls were closing in on him, the pressure rising. He was so good, practically without flaw to the outside world, but she saw him for all he was. Smart, highly-qualified, idealistic and good. He was better than good, Fitzgerald Grant was the best. But he still needed her. She would never insult him by treating him like a child, fussing over him like his mother. She would organize the library because that was what he needed.

"Miss Olivia, glad to see you're already here."

"Good morning, Master Grant."

"How's it coming so far?"

"Slow, but it's nothing I can't handle."

"I don't doubt that." Fitz grinned. She didn't see him do so, as her back was turned to him. But his grin soon disappeared when his stomach dropped like a stone. He had brought her here, and he wanted to keep her. All that night he had spent thinking of what to say in this moment. And now that he was there, his infatuated mind was erased. He would have to cross a prodigious line to get to her. He knew he was on thin ice already by asking her to do this favour. _Dangerous,_ in light of his most recent announcement. He was running for President. He was going to be President, but he was unfocused, unhinged because of the woman standing in front of him. His affection for a slave would draw a possibly detrimental amount of attention to himself. The walls of the old library could harbour a secret, but could he?

Olivia flexed her slender fingers are far as they would go to try to reach the top shelf, but was failing when the Vice President met her from behind.

" I got it, Liv." he reached for the books and grabbed them with ease. The height advantage. Was this how it was going to be? Helping her reach books for the rest of his life just to be near her. And he was, near her. A fact that they both took notice of.

"Thank you, Master." she shied away.

"Fitz." he said.

"Excuse me?"

"Call me Fitz, please. It's only fitting." he gave her a prize-winning smile. Funny, he didn't seem to do that very often. It was nice to see him smile.

"I'm afraid not, Master Grant. That would be extremely inappropriate on my part."

"Olivia," he started, his brow was furrowed as he tried to choose his words quite carefully. "As a servant of this household-not even as a slave, but simply as an employe- you do as I say. Is that correct?" he said without the intonation of frivolity.

"Yes, Master."

"Call me by my name." he stated. Not as a request, but a demand.

Uncharacteristically, Olivia narrowed her eyes at him, cocking her head to the side. The slaves did not call their masters by their first names, especially when already treading in dangerous waters.

"May I ask why?" with her arms crossed close to her chest, Olivia strided back toward him. She pursed her lips, a gesture that excited him while also making him weak, and forgetful. The man would not dare say why, not when he was this tempted to grab her.

"Right. So, it will still be Master Grant?" she said assuredly. She was too clever for her own good.

They would have a week, that was their timeline. A week from then, he would leave for the campaign trail and not return for several months. One week, seven days and collectively only a couple of hours spent together. They would have to make them count.

* * *

The sun was setting on the sixth day. The light from the open windows no longer provided enough light. Fitz had Olivia light several candles all over the room. They had been at it for hours. They were surprised that Mellie or Sarah or someone hadn't come looking for either of them. The Grant estate was usually teeming with comers and goers. It seemed Fitzgerald hardly had time to spare. But everyone told him that with the departure for the campaign trail in a couple of days, it would be best for him to get some rest, so no visitors. _Rest. _Is that what they were doing? Resting?He hadn't been this exhilarated, exhausted or this emotionally conflicted in ages. And they hadn't even touched yet.

But he had found the solution, the solution to his ache. A remedy for his confrontation issues. And his cure was a secret kept ever close to his chest.

"I have _The Social Contract_." Olivia hollered from the other side of the room.

"Author?" he said without looking up from the work on his desk. Everyday while she worked, he would sit at the desk and begin a letter. He would occasionally look up from the parchment and study her as she shuffled around, filing the books away. He would maybe smile fondly, or say something profound. She would notice him staring, blush, and go back to working. And he would resume his work.

"Roo- ro," she struggled to pronounce the foreign moniker. "Rousseau."

"Brilliant, bring it here."

She sat the book gently on his desk. She peeked at the letter he seemed to be concentrating so hard on. "Can I ask what you are working on?"

He cleverly slid the paper under his hand. "Of course you can," the corners of his mouth curled into a smile. "But that doesn't mean I have to tell you."

It stung. Having him hide things from her. She didn't know why. She rationalized that she did not have the right to be offended that he was keeping things from her, especially when she was the one who insisted on the Chinese wall to put between them. Still, it hurt. She pressed on.

"That's a lot of letters, Master Grant." she hinted at the pile of folded papers gathering at the edge of the desk. "When are you hoping to send them out?"

"Soon, Olivia." he said, intentionally giving her nothing. "Why don't you go on downstairs? I think you've done enough for today."

She lingered at the edge of his desk, then left quietly, feeling stung. With only one more day left together, she wondered why he had chosen now to push her away. Things had been changing for them, hadn't they?

**As she fell on to the lumpy mattress in the damp cabin, she was consumed with thoughts of him and feelings of longing. Her eyes were growing heavy, and she slept on her thoughts that night.**


	4. Shade

**Yay! I know it's been a while, but I'm so excited to be posting this next chapter, it's a good one. Scratch that, it's an EPIC one. It's a scene that I've been building up to since I first got the idea for this story. OLITZ awaits you, as always.**

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**"****_But friendship is precious, not only in the shade, but in the sunshine of life, and thanks to a benevolent arrangement the greater part of life is sunshine_****" - Thomas Jefferson**

**February 21, 1800**

It was evening. The last one.

The sun had suffused piercing white light through the library that day. But the sun had disappeared, and with it, the light. And the call for dinner was sure to come any minute now. He was at his desk, still slaving over another letter. They had not spoke much that morning. Olivia figured it would be best. She continued to working, knowing she would never finish before he left. She sighed at the thought of this.

"What's on your mind?" he asked curiously.

"Nothing, Master Grant." she said dismissively.

"I take leave for the campaign trail tomorrow." he mentioned.

"Is that so?"

His heart sank a little in his chest. "First thing in the morning. Six months. Traveling to all thirteen states. I'll miss it here. You'll take care of things in my absence?"

"You have much better staffers on hand to look after things. Sarah has the whole household in good shape, and she'll keep it that way for you."

"Well, I'm glad." Fitz stepped out from his desk and went to the bookshelf where she was, jamming his hands in his pockets.

"It's a shame we only managed 'T'." he observed. They hadn't finished shelving all the books, but they had come so close to the margin, "T" was where they would have to leave it. They stood shoulder to shoulder looking up at their work. Well done, with the time allotted. They were alone for what they knew could be the last time for a while. Fitz's hands found their way out of his pockets. There was a deep, collectively sigh between them. Hands dangled by their sides, and gravity seemed to be pulling them closer and closer together.

"Most certainly, Master Grant. Time slipped right on away from us." she blushed, feeling his calloused fingers brush against her own. She looked up at the clock in the corner. 6:30.

"I should be heading downstairs to help with dinner." she said suddenly. She was already striding toward the door.

"Olivia-"he stammered.

"Have a wonderful trip, Master Grant. We'll miss you terribly." And with that, she shut the door behind her. As she stepped downstairs, a quick tear slipped down her cheek.

Liv burst through the kitchen door and started pacing around the room in circles. Sarah, Harrison, and two other young slaves named Kip and Marie were already hard at work on dinner. Pot roast with new potatoes, cabbage and baby carrots.

"Look who decided to show up for kitchen duty tonight." Harrison said with a smile.

"Yeah, I was starting to think you had forgotten about us, Liv." Kip said, rinsing off the cabbage. Their cheerful smiles disappeared when they noticed Olivia's pacing around the room. A telltale sign of distress.

"Liv, what's the matter?" Sarah said, concerned. Her voice implied everything that she was thinking, everything that she had been afraid of. Olivia was smart, too smart for her own good sometimes. Sarah had been afraid that she had gotten in over her head with Master Grant. He was a white man. He _owned _Olivia. He was in the perfect position to take whatever he had wanted from her, with or without her permission.  
"We should make carrot cake tonight." Olivia said firmly. The kitchen looked at her as if she had lost her mind.

"Why, hon?" Sarah asked.

"Carrot cake. It's his favorite. He's leaving tomorrow. He would like that. Carrot cake with the cream cheese frosting."

"It's not on the menu." Marie said dumbly.

"That's okay. Let's make it anyway." She grabbed an apron and got to work. The others did the same.

The Vice President slipped out of the house, thankfully without being seen. He treaded down the worn path with a fat leather-bound book in his hand. It was drizzling lightly and it was bitterly cold in the February weather, but he walked on. The third cabin, Olivia's. She and the other house slaves were still inside, washing up after dinner. For dessert the kitchen had prepared carrot cake, his favorite. He could barely stomach it, though. Through dinner thoughts of the next few months ran through his mind. He wondered how things would be once he was gone. He would miss Olivia. He would miss her so much. But Fitz was relieved that she was still in the house because he would be able to do this without her knowing. As he made his way into her cabin, he pondered how desperate he was, sneaking out and around his own estate, chasing after a woman he couldn't have.

He sat slowly on the bed, stiff at first but soon relaxing. He ran his hands over the blankets, fisted the sheets, brought them up to his face where he inhaled them. Then he tucked the book under her pillow, leaving a silent prayer that this would work.

The condition of the cabin was poor. For one, it was freezing on the inside. There was a gaping hole in the roof. Olivia's straw mattress was itchy and uncomfortable, and it made him sad to think of her sleeping there alone, shivering every night. There were five other beds cramped in the tiny room, but very little else. Olivia and the others must live with so little, he thought. He wondered what that was like.

The time had come for him to go, and he did so reluctantly. With one final silent prayer, he let the cabin door close behind him. He held his head up high and marched back to the house.

Later that night, the Grants crawled into the bedroom.

"Where did you run off to after dinner, dear?" Mellie asked coolly.

"That's none of your concern." Fitz responded absent-mindedly. He undid his tie and watch, kicked off his shoes, and he took off all other things. Mellie only sat up in bed, eyeing him.

"I'm not stupid, Fitz."

"What do you mean?"

"You have a thing going with that negro girl. You're carrying on with it, making yourself look foolish and me."

Fitz was quietly erupting into a rage. It seemed like he had been silently preparing to burst for the past twenty years. Mellie picked the wrong time to start.

"I can't believe you could be so careless, so selfish. You throw yourself into this campaign. You say you want it, but do you? Because Fitz, it doesn't look like it. Taking a negro to bed, in your own house. It's shameful, it's a tragedy, it's unheard of. I'm absolutely disgu-"

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"This isn't over Fitzgerald. I may be a woman, I may only be your wife, but do not underestimate me."

Olivia arrived back at the cabin exhausted. He was leaving her tomorrow, and they hadn't even gotten a proper goodbye. She knew she was responsible for running out before they could exchange goodbyes, but between the two of them, too many mixed signals were being thrown about.

The lantern she and Sarah used to guide them to the cabin in the dark glowed in the corner of the room. The women were shifting sluggishly to their beds.

Dinner had been uneventful. Fitz sat at the head of the table as the guests chatted and carried on. He hardly touched his food, did not indulge in drink. He only sat there troubled, invisible to everyone but her. She knew something had weighed heavily on his mind. As she sank into her pillow she knew she would probably never get the chance to find out what that weighty something was. But then she tucked her hand under her pillow.

A copy of Cyrano's love poemsfrom the library, her favorite. She grabbed the lantern and held it close to the book's tattered surface curiously. She opened it and out fell a flood of loose papers. Letters, she saw, addressed to her.

These letters had been hidden away within the pages of a book that she was not supposed to have. She remembered how Fitz had known that this book was her favorite before they had ever truly spoken. Something clicked inher mind. She read:

_Miss Olivia,_

_You have mystified, fascinated and inspired me ever since the day you came to us. I cannot think of a better opportunity to lay down all that lies in my heart before you, so that you may choose me. I feel that I would be remiss if I didn't let my feelings show._

_These words are for you to hold steadily to me in my absence. I don't want you to feel that I am away from you because you are never away from me. What will I think of when I am on the campaign trail? It will be you, and only your face._

_I know how selfish I am to say, that day you came to us, I was presented with the greatest gift: a new heart, wrapped in rich brown silk, topped off with a sweet, red, round bow. You were beautiful and somehow became even more so in my eyes everyday. But like a coward, I could never say such things aloud. Even writing this now, my hand trembles in fear. _

_Olivia, in the moments we spend together, there is only us two. Breathing in synchronization, and existing as one. Know that it is that feeling of togetherness that never leaves me, even as we are apart._

Olivia touched her fingers to her quivering lips in shock. And there were more letters. More beautiful words to be read from him.

_Miss Olivia,_

_Ever alluring, ever enigmatic, ever illicit Olivia. O-liv-i-a. Sweet, soft, precious Olivia. What a gift it is! To be able to say your name, as it rolls off my tongue, as it escapes my lips, as I scrawl it in these letters. Such a simple, earthly pleasure._

_Delicate, but you hide things from me. You dart away from my gaze. I only want to be close to you, to be near you. I'm the Vice President of the United States, but all I can think about is you. You consume me. I may own you under the law, but I have found that I am yours. All that you want, all that you seek, all that you ask of me I would do. If only to see you open, to see you vulnerable- I would give anything. _

_What are you afraid of, Liv? What scares you? Is it me that you fear? Please don't be afraid. Trust me. I am yours. Trust me._

And on and on they went. There were dozens of letters written just like that. As she read them in the light of the candle, she felt completely overwhelmed.

This was what he had worked so hard on everyday in the library. This was his secret business- her.

She read the first letter over and over again that night, saving the rest for the days she knew she would have to go without him. She fell asleep, blissfully happy.

The next morning, the entire household gathered to see the Vice President off. Young Karen and Jerry clung to their mother's side. Olivia stood next to Sarah, Jimmy, Harrison, Marie, Kip, and a black man named George.

The field workers had come out as well, keeping distance.

Before following Cyrus and stepping into the carriage, Fitzgerald looked back out to the house, to his family that watched him anxiously. Mellie stood on the bottom step, Karen and Gerry by her side. He waved to them, and they waved back. Then he looked to Olivia, who had a somber glint in her eyes.

"I'll be back quite soon," he said, addressing the household. "And when I return, it will be to a new world. I'm sure of it."

Olivia gave a small, unseen smile. She understood.

The wheels on the carriage began to spin, whisking her loved one away.


	5. Two Months More

_**I'm back! To stories in one week?! Crazy, right? Go me. Anyway, here it is! The much anticipated next chapter of to Delineate and Destroy Us. In this chapter, we get a further glimpse into life at the Grant Estate in Fitz's absence and we get introduced to a real tidal wave of a woman, one Harmony Wake of Charlotte North Carolina, who just happens to be a very close relative to someone in the house. With summer making it's way through, quicker and longer updates are sure to come! But reviews are always awesome. Love you guys!**_

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_"Love knows not distance; it hath no continent, its eyes are for the stars."_

_- Gilbert Parker_

**_June 19, 1800-_**

"What will we do, now that the Master's gone?" Marie asked as she sat at the wooden table in the kitchen.

"He's comin' back." Kip said, rolling her eyes.

"I know, stupid. It just seems like he's been gone forever. What's Mrs. Grant gonna do? What are we gonna do?"

"Whatever we have to." Harrison said, spinning around her. "Nothing's changed. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Orders still come from the lady of the house, no exceptions."

"I think I miss him." Kip said dreamily, coming to join her at the table.

"Why?"

She didn't get the chance to answer because Sarah came bursting through the door at that very moment. She eyed the two girls up and down, "Are we at the theater?"

"No, ma'am." they said in unison.

"Do you have occasion to sit idle?"

"No, ma'am."

"Did I tell you you could sit?"

"No ma'am."

"Right! Up, up, get up and run this onto the porch for Mrs. Grant." she ordered, shoving a silver platter into their hands.

It had been four months since the Vice President had left for the campaign trail. And things were starting to slip into a comfortable routine. Some, like Sarah and Harrison were adaptable. Others were still fumbling to get a handle on things.

The lady of the house was taking tea on the porch with a relative from out of town. They entered demurely and left the platters silently at their sides.

"So, this is that old Virginia air that you used to write so fondly of." a woman who looked like Mellie said, sipping her tea. She had Mellie's handsome jaw and well-proportioned face, and sharp nose. But where Mellie's blue eyes were bright and round, her older sister's were sultry, and almond shaped. Her thin lips curled into a poisonous smirk when prompted, and her light brown hair fell down her back.

"It's lovely isn't it?"

"It most certainly is." Harmony said in thick drawl, taking it all in. The view from the back porch was certainly something to admire. The green rich green grass stretched over an acre. The sun shined bright that day, and a soft breezed rolled through.

Melody and Harmony had grown up together in North Carolina. Harmony was five years older than Mellie. When Mellie had married Fitzgerald, Harmie had already made union to a Wake of Charlotte. They had been unable to have children and sadly, Mr. Wake fell ill and died in 1793. In their fifteen years of marriage, Harmony Wake learned quite well what it meant to be a wife, a respected cog in the clock of the community. She knew dignity and propriety. And she possessed a knack for coolly reminding those where their truly was. She was a most cunning sort of woman. She had to be. Widowed, childless women like herself had reputations to uphold and appearances to maintain.

In a way, Mellie, too, understood this 'woman's work'. But where her sister had obtained an skill of offhanded dealing, Mellie lacked the finesse.

"I'm so glad to see you, sister." Mellie said warmly.

"How is it with Fitzgerald gone?" Harmie said bluntly.

Mellie sighed. "Honestly, it's the same. Nothing's changed. Here, gone, it makes no difference, it would seem. Even when he's home we're not _togethe_r. But that's a wife's work, I suppose."

"It's to be expected, Mellie. Men are like dogs. Loyal and dim. They lose interest fast."

"You are extremely perceptive, Harmony." Mellie said with a wry chuckle. Harmony had no idea how right she was about her husband losing interest. That was the humour.

Harmie pursed her lips, "I think it would be a good idea for me to extend my stay."

"Oh?" Mellie asked.

" To See to it that things here get taken care of. I want to make sure all is well with you and the kids in your husband's absence."

"Oh."

"You need me, Mellie."

Mellie's dimples came to life on her face. An involuntary side effect of fake smiling.

Olivia leaned in the doorway of an off room, hoping to go unseen. She held a letter close to her face, trying to absorb every word. Fitz's messages that had been hidden away in the leather bound book had been the only thing holding Olivia together in his absence:

_The journey to bring us to a place where we can be together is sure to be a long one. Tireless and difficult. The ache that I feel for you, it never subsides even in my sleep. _

_Do you want to hear of a dream I have had, Olivia? My eyes fell shut and I saw your beautiful, luminous face, sleeping so soundly next to me. What a child you have turned me into! I yearn for you even in my unconscious mind. I want for things I can never have. I loathe the level to which you've brought me! And yet, I love you for it, just the same. It's only when I dream of you that I truly feel awake. _

_You'll forgive me for saying this, but I can only imagine what it would be like to touch you. Your velvety, soft, brown skin, so smooth under my fingertips. It is a thankful thing that I am a man of patience and discipline or else. . . or else I would feel the need to steal your touch, as if it belonged to me. I would never take your virtue from you, never without your permission._

_Do you dream of me, too, Liv? I would hope so._

_- FTG_

In the months without Fitz, Olivia had grown so tense , so on edge. The waiting was taking its toll.

Then came an interruption to her reading, Sarah peeking over her shoulder, "What you lookin' at?"

"Nothing." she said, stowing the clandestine letter away.

"Well, the Missus is takin' her tea out on the porch with Ms. Harmony. You had better go."

"Okay." she smiled, preparing to rush off.

"You know," she started, "I had thought, hoped that with the Master gone I wouldn't have to keep wasting my breath huntin' and searchin' all up and down these halls lookin' for you every second. That you'd had your go with little disappearing act and that was that. But, that just doesn't seem to be the case."

"I'm at the top of my game, Sarah. Completely focused." she lied.

"Right, well focus on taking this tray on outside."

Olivia grabbed it from Sarah's hands and walked out onto the large, white back porch. Mellie had always loved entertaining guests in her husband's absences. Showing off for the high rollers and old acquaintances . What a lovely home she had lied so hard for, suffered sleepless nights for, had kids she didn't want for. What a lovely home it was.

Platter filled with delicate cucumber sandwiches and fruit salad in hand, Olivia strided toward Mellie first, setting the tray down beside her.

"None for me." Mellie said.

Harmie eyed Olivia curiously. The girl warranted a bit of attention, she did. Beautiful, and Harmie in her intuition could tell. "Bring one to me." she ordered.

Olivia did as she was told, nodding politely.

"You're a pretty little thing. Tell me, Mellie, how much did old Fitz pay for this here nigger?" Harmie said purposefully. She was no fool. She knew what she was doing, to undermine Olivia. She didn't know how, but she could sense power in this slave and she felt the need to eradicate it.

Mellie laughed heartily, "Oh please, Harmony for goodness sake, why talk about money? Besides, I have no idea how much runaway niggers run for these days."

"Runaway, huh?" Harmie's eyes darted over to Olivia again. "You lucky to still have your life, girl. Where I come from, overseers whip runaways to their dying breaths. You ever been slashed, girl?"

Olivia said nothing. Her eyes had run blank with the memory, her screaming, her bleeding. Having to sleep on her stomach for weeks as the scars healed and the "r" branded onto her left breast.

"I didn't think so. Face like yours, too delicate to whip, I'd reckon."

"Much too delicate." Mellie nodded apprehensively. She didn't like to think of the unpleasantries of it all. It left her with a bitter taste on her tongue.

* * *

Suppertime. You would never know from the dining hall just how hectic all of the action backstage truly was. An intricate and complicated dance. The residents didn't have the stomachs for the hard labor. Instead they were served.

They had prepared an amazing spread.

"Ooh, Mellie. This all smells delicious." Harmie remarked.

"Thank you. Sarah takes special care. Don't you?" Mellie turned her head back in Sarah's direction as she stood against the wall.

"Yes, ma'am."

Harmony simply rolled her eyes. Mellie did always have a soft spot for the coloureds. Harmie didn't believe in soft spots, for anyone.

"Auntie Harmie," Karen piped up, "how long are you staying for?"

"Why? Have you grown sick of your old Auntie already?" asked playfully.

Karen giggled, positively tickled, "No."

Harmie took a miniscule bite of beef tenderloin and chewed it thoroughly. "Fate would have it that I would staying in town for quite some time." she said quizzically.

"How long?" Karen asked.

"Karen, be quiet!" Mellie said, growing flustered. It bothered her, knowing that her children were so excited to have her wicked bitch of a sister around. Still, when she didn't answer, Mellie grew curious.

"Well, how would you like it, if I stuck around for the whole summer?"

"Yay!" Karen exclaimed.

Mellie was much less pleased. But she didn't show it. Woman's work, isn't that what they'd called it?

"Didn't you hear that, Liv?" Karen directed her attention to Olivia, her favorite playmate. "Harmony's gonna stay the whole summer so we can all play together."

Harmie, too, directed her attention to the servant girl. Harmie's eyes narrowed, and she wasn't so much gazing as she was glowering. Not easily fooled was Harmie, and whatever prejudices good Southern ladies guarded, Harmie knew a woman when she saw one. A woman like Liv- graceful, elegant- could so easily be spotted, even under the cover of her own darkness.

"That's enough, Karen." Mellie hissed.

"But Mother-"

"That's alright," Harmie said, distracted. She watched Olivia standing against the wall, not making eye contact. "Girl, more wine." she drawled, holding her glass in the air.

Olivia fixed to fill her glass, leaned in close, but not too close. Harmie only smirked as she drew her elbow back and nudged Olivia hard enough in the side to send the glass and the bottle tipping. Red wine spilled everywhere.

"Oh, for God's sake, girl. Look at what you've done." Mellie gasped, throwing her hands up. "My husband's grandmother gave us this cloth. Idiot!"

All of the other slaves standing by rushed to her side to try to wipe it off, but the tablecloth was ruined.

Her Aunt Harmony's actions didn't go unnoticed, "But Mother-" Karen started.

"This tablecloth is older than I am. Honestly, Fitzgerald will be so upset. . ." Mellie rambled as she frantically tried to clean up the spill. No use.

"But Mother-"

"Shut up, Karen! Shut up." Mellie leaned over and slapped her in the face. "Shut up!"

A rouge welt burned on Karen's white cheek, and she cupped her hand to it. Then she began to cry.

"Take her upstairs, take them both." Mellie gestured to Olivia, leaving the others to clean up.

When Karen reached the final step, she made a mad dash to her room, and promptly slammed the door. Olivia put little Gerry to sleep, and not five minutes later she was at back at Karen's door.

"Karen Elizabeth Grant, open this door right now." Olivia said firmly.

The door opened slowly and behind it, Karen's little face. She was still sniffling.

Olivia sighed. She felt pity for the girl. Mellie shouldn't have slapped Karen, but that was Mellie's way. She had a knack for landing herself in a strop where no panic was necessary. Everything she ever did was in melodramatic reaction to something else. She was simple-minded, unoriginal, dull. But beautiful, misleadingly so.

"No, go away."

And so she left her be for the night, too exhausted to fight it. When feeling frustrated, she'd try to count the days until Fitz's return. _Two months more._

Karen was five and her brother Gerry hardly three. Neither of them had come to learn how it worked then, the slaves and the whites. Olivia was her favorite to play with. She sat by her side as Olivia hung clothes on the line. Olivia taught her how to spell big words that a five year old would have no use for.

"Spell _precocious ._"

With time, Karen stammered out the words, each one that Olivia taught.

"How do you know how to spell? Eunice Grobe says that niggers can't read."

"Don't say that, Karen." Olivia scolded.

"What?"

"Nigger. It's _derogatory_, do you remember what that means?"

"A put-down!" Karen said proudly.

Olivia's head shook back and forth in disapproval,"Your mama, your daddy, folks that come in and out of your life, even some blacks might say that word, but you don't _ever_ have to. I didn't go and fill your head with these big words, just for you to waste. Saying the word 'nigger' makes you look stupid, Karen. Are you stupid?"

"No."

"I didn't think so." Olivia said sternly.

She didn't like the idea of hate infecting a good heart and Karen had such a sweet disposition. She'd hoped to keep it that way. So she taught her things, made her privy to useful advice. And when the time came for her to grow up and make her own decisions, Olivia hoped that Karen would make the right choices with the knowledge bestowed. _Preach love, not hate. Trust in the Lord. Protect your innocence, your self-worth. No crying._

At night, Olivia would wait for the sound of the others' soft snoring to fill the room. In the waiting, she would close her eyes and allow her mind- her hands, too- to wander. She predicted yearning welling up inside of her, and every night, it came. Like clockwork. She stopped fighting it after long. Because when she stroked herself , she could imagine it was _him_ touching her, making her feel this way. And it brought her as close as she could come to him, and for the minute or so that followed, it would be enough, before the longing would kick in again. And she would groan in frustration.

She sat up that night and wondered where he was, whose face he was falling asleep to. But some small, resiliant part of her knew that she didn't have to wonder. He was thinking of her. If he felt the way she did, Fitz was always thinking of Olivia.

_Two months more._

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**_Thanks for reading. Send me feedback or if you have questions don't be shy, readers. I answering questions about my stories, so go for it._**


	6. Greetings from America

**Hey y'all! In this chapter, things between Mellie and Harmie and Olivia remain tense, and word is received from the campaign trail.**

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**July 6, 1800-**

**_"The glow of one warm thought is to me worth more than money"_ - Thomas Jefferson**

It had been a three weeks since Hurricane Harmie had blown into town, and Mellie was set completely ablaze. Harmie had sent for her things from Charlotte and they had arrived a few days later. She settled herself into one of the many guest bedrooms on Fitz and Mellie's floor. Seven bedrooms and four floors and Harmie had chosen to sleep in the room adjacent to her sister's. As she watched Jimmy haul her possessions up to Harmony's new bedroom, she pondered how typical of Harmie it was to impose herself in Mellie's life at the Grant Estate.

Sure, her arrival did bring a level of excitement to the house where it was needed, but Mellie figured it was only a matter of time before Harmie would find a way to upstage her. She could feel the pressure mounting.

Mellie woke up that morning and had Kip dress her. "Kip, how many brothers or sisters do you have?"

It was a loaded question, "Living, ma'am? None."

"And not living?"

Kip smiled as she fumbled with Mellie's hair, brushing it with thorough strokes."None."

Mellie scoffed, "You're better off for it. Sisters bring nothing but trouble."

"Oh, I'm not sure if I believe that. You and Miss Harmony seem to get along just fine." she said politely.

"Shows how little you know." she mumbled, then she sighed, remembering herself, "That's terribly rude of me, I know. I love my sister, but we are very competitive, she and I. You wouldn't understand."

/

Olivia made her way upstairs into Harmie room only to find her sitting at the vanity still in her cotton robe. "Oh, goodness. I'm sorry, Miss Harmie." Olivia blushed.

Harmie turned around abruptly, sighing at the sight of the young woman turning red at the door," It's fine."

"I told Marie to haul herself on in here to help you. I don't know where that girl could be- I could help you get dressed." she suggested.

"Would you, dear?" she inquired with a doe-eyed expression. She had already drawn the curtains herself, and the glow of the sun shined on her beautifully.

Olivia helped Harmie decide between a lavender and a mint green dress before assisting her in putting it on. She sat her back down on the stool and did her hair as Harmie gazed on.

"Such a pretty brown face. You must be married by now, am I right?"

Olivia cheeks soared a new colour of pink, "No, ma'am not married."

"But someone has your heart, I'm guessing?"

Olivia shook her head shyly.

"Men are of different breed, I can tell you that much. Better to stay away if you ask me. Oh sure, they can provide for you, put a roof of your head and little babies in your belly, but what good is it to you if they still don't see you as an equal?"

"That's interesting, Miss Harmie."

"Yes, very interesting." Harmie said, glaring at her intently. The sweet tone of her tongue didn't match the mischievous gleam in her eyes, but Olivia was too distracted to notice. If she had, she would have been able to predict Harmony's next statement,"Take Mr. Grant, for example."

Olivia's head shot up, to meet Harmony's eyes in the mirror, and Harmie smirked at having her now full attention, " Marriage is hardly ever easy on anyone, but from what I can tell, my baby sister isn't exactly doing the best of jobs."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"She's negligent." she said with a wave of her hand. "Fitz is a _man, _and perhaps it's none of my business, but my sister just can't seem to satisfy. His eyes tend to wander." she suggested.

"And just where would they wander to?" Olivia asked.

Harmie turned around slowly to look Olivia in the eye, "To young black faces like yours. No easier way for a man to get that which wants than from his own property, right?"

It was the nastiest blow she had laid since, and Olivia was really feeling the sting. But, instead of feeling angry, her face just sunk with guilt and disappointment. How foolish she was for thinking that a bunch of little love notes could serve as anything more than an invitation to be used and abused in whole new sense of the word. As Harmony sat there with that smug look on her face, Olivia sensed hat Harmie knew that she had won some small battle in the greater scheme of things.

"But, if he hasn't tried anything with you, I wouldn't worry your little negro head about it.. And if he does, what would you be able to do to stop him?" She abruptly stood up from the vanity and left the room, but not before shooting her a look of utter disgust.

Olivia made Harmie's bed, using the soft linens to wipe away her own tears.

After the room was made up, Olivia made her way down to the kitchen. The house was just starting to come alive and Karen and Gerry could be heard stomping around in their own rooms. The wood-paneled floors of the hallways were hand beautiful, soft Oriental rugs lain on top of them. Paintings of the family hung from the walls. There was one that hung on the wall of Fitz just before the staircase that Olivia particularly liked. It was a portrait of him as a younger man, wearing a navy blue suit. His curly hair had a rich, golden tint in it and his jaw was set harsh and square on his noble face. Sometimes Olivia would stop for just a moment to look at it, but she couldn't this morning. Her insides hurt at the thought of him.

/

She held her head up marched into the kitchen,"Where the hell were you?" Olivia scolded.

"What?" Marie said indignantly.

"I told you that it was your job to deliver Miss Harmie's wake up call and to help her dress for the day. What happened?"  
"Liv, I'm sorry."

"Don't let it happen again. And give me that," she said, yanking the platter of biscuits from the young girl's hands, "As it seems I'll have to do everything myself this morning."

As Olivia burst through the door to the dining room, Mellie sat at the head of the table dressed in a pastel coloured garment at the head of the table, buttering a biscuit. Karen and Gerry sat towards the other end of the long wooden table eating their grits with salt and pepper. They both giggled ceaselesslyHarmie sat at the end closest to the kids putting jam on a roll.

Harrison came wordlessly to Mellie's side and handed her an envelope, and her face lit up like the fourth of July. "It's from Fitz. It says- it says, that the campaign is going so well, he thinks he may return as soon as the second week in August. He says he can't wait to see us all, and he'll be quite pleased to return so soon." she said, elated. Having her husband back meant having Harmony back out of the house.

"Well, read it out, sister." Harmie said, interest, suddenly piqued. She craned her neck to look back at Olivia who was silently battling a fiery throng of mixed emotions.

Mellie cleared her throat,

_"Dear Mrs. Grant,_

_Happy Independence Day to all! I am happy to report that the campaign has been going exceedingly well. I've been able to meet people out side of our own legislature and get down to the grassroots. I ve seen Americans battling out against another even as the battle for freedom has been won. Having the opportunity to really see this fair country has been an incredible gift. But, I also miss home. I believe the best of my work has been done and I am more than ready to start making my way back to Virginia in a few short weeks. A nice fellow from Maine came up to me after a heated speech and commended me on my work so far, telling me to go forward. That level of encouragement means the world. It's all very political and over your heads, but to make a long story short, Cyrus may have made a President of me yet._

_Tell the children that I miss them dearly, and that their father will be back sooner than they think._

_Best,_

_Fitzgerald"_

"There you have it. That's wonderful news, Mellie." Harmony said.

"Isn't it?" Mellie sighed, putting the letter to her heart. "Did you hear that? Father's coming home soon." Mellie directed toward the children. They only giggled back. Mellie then turned to her sister, "He's coming home." she sighed contentedly.

"That's wonderful, darling. You'd ought to get a head start on party planning." Harmie smiled.

"I think you might be right." Mellie nodded, excused herself and skipped out of the room. Like a little girl.

Once Mellie was safely out of the room, Harmie looked back at Olivia who looked like she was on pins and needles.

"This is all just so exciting." Harmony said, dabbing the crumbs off of her mouth with her white napkin.

/

Here, in Virginia, in 1800, things were settling into a comfortable pattern- and America, it seemed was finding its way, finally. With traditions set and upheld, everybody had a place from the uppercrust to the negro slaves. Olivia, however, had always wondered about her place. In America, in society, in life. Where did she fit? She wasn't content to spend the rest of her life under the fist of someone else, picking cotton, washing, folding, watching White men lie, watching black people die. It wasn't enough. She wanted love. And the most ironic thing of it all was that Olivia fought love for years. She shut it out and shooed love away like some hideous abstraction. She hid from love and did away from it. Because love wasn't real, and whatever shadows of love the eyes could see were illusions, right?

But Fitz loved her, and certainly that was the sickest part. She'd found love, her greatest fear, in a man she could never have. What misery it was. To love. What a cursed emotion. A plague upon her heart, to love and be loved back by a man miles and miles away. She hated herself a little every time she thought about it. There was so much longing and desperation building up inside of her, in her belly. A feeling this good, wasn't meant to afflict her, was it? Oliva didn't know. She had no idea what love was supposed to feel like.

She remembered her mother, who'd loved her once. But Olivia was stolen away from her when she was only five years old. No brothers or sisters to mourn the loss with. And she was shifted from plantation to plantation all alone. She was all alone then.

She was still alone except for Fitzgerald, but where was he? A better question crossed her mind, what was her big plan once her silver-tongued paramour made his much awaited return? Would he feel the same?

After what Harmony said that morning, what was Olivia supposed to make of all of this? She was glad that Fitzgerald was coming back so soon, but she had to keep that joy to herself, especially since she knew that Harmony , for whatever reason, would be keeping a watchful eye on her. She didn't enjoy the company of that woman, not at all. Ever since their first encounter, Harmony had been eyeing Olivia like a hawk. She been overly demanding, making snide remarks about the slaves, and shifting the energy of the house altogether. Sure, the kids loved Harmie. They tugged on her dresses and demanded to be carried in her arms. She sang in their ears, crouched down on the floor of their playroom to partake in games with them. But all that did was set their mother off in jealousy.

Olivia was patient. She was patient, and she would wait for Fitzgerald to come home. And she told herself everything would be right then.

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This one was a bit short! Terribly sorry. How'd you like it? And ahem, you can expect Mr. Grant's return in the next chapter


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